


Blood Bags

by paintpaw



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Gen, Vampire Medic, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 04:55:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8432653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintpaw/pseuds/paintpaw
Summary: News that there will be no further shipments of plasma to the base struck a nerve with Medic. Which is strange, since the team never receive regular blood transfusions. Something's ruffled his feathers and Heavy is sent in to find out what. [[No explicit gore, some Medic headcanons and a little Heavy/Medic if you squint, but it's not too in your face or whatever.]]





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween mortals!!
> 
> Have this one-shot about vampire!Medic!

Medic had become unusually irate at the news Miss Pauling had given them. It was nothing more than a few cancelled orders, which had been adequately compensated for:  Loaves of white bread replaced with wholemeal. Engine grease replaced with lubricating oil. Eighty various blood bags replaced with ten gallons of medigun solution.

It was obvious which one had ruffled Medic’s feathers, the reasoning was less obvious. Demoman had suggested vaporizing the solution himself was time-consuming, but Engineer knew that the process was simple. It was a strange thing, none of the team could remember ever receiving a blood transfusion. Only a few abnormalities, like Heavy, who received the best treatment regardless and Spy, who had needed surgery to replace his lungs when he’d started wheezing. That didn’t explain why Medic was spitting down the phone at Miss Pauling one moment, then holed up in the infirmary the next.

The team took no notice, Medic was a renown sulker, not as bad Scout or Sniper, but he had his moments. He appeared briefly at dinner, only to take a plate back to his room. But when the doctor did not show his face at breakfast or at lunch, the team began to worry.

And so, like always, the mighty Russian was sent to quell the German storm.

_Cowards._

Heavy could have been doing better things in the sacred days off he received. Reading, writing to his family, tending to Sasha. Medic’s company was enjoyable, but facing the man’s anger was a chore. He readjusted his grip on the hot plate of food he was carrying. It was night by the time the team had decided enough was enough, which was stupid. They should be more aware of their resident mad doctor. In any case, Medic was a better listener when his mouth was distracted with food.

The Russian knocked on the infirmary door and let himself in. Light from the hallway poured into the darkened room. Heavy blinked. It wasn’t pitch black, Medic had turned on some dimmer lights. Perhaps he’d gone to bed. Strange, it was only what, half six?

Heavy stepped inside. “Doktor?”

There was a muffled response, like a whine. Heavy frowned. The bitterness in his belly was dying, being replaced with concern.

“Doktor?” He tried again, allowing some urgency into his voice.

The same hissing groan answered him. Heavy glanced around. What had Medic done to himself this time? Some sort of hunger strike for the blood bags? Heavy mentally shook his head, his doctor was not that stupid... He hoped.

Heavy caught the outline of Medic, crouched on the floor just to the side of his desk. He was sat very still, with his back to Heavy. One hand was covering his face while the other rested on his stomach. He did not appear to registrar Heavy at all. It wasn’t like the giant was tiptoeing. He stopped a few feet away from Medic. It was like he wasn’t even breathing. After placing the food on the desk, Heavy crouched and placed a hand, as gently as he could, on Medic’s shoulder.

The German’s body convulsed. His head snapped around to face Heavy. Medic stared with those piercing blue eyes. There was a coldness to them, one reserved only for battles. Heavy’s muscles tensed. He knew that look. But it had never been aimed at him.

Medic pulled back his lips and let out a feral snarl. Heavy rolled back on his heels, catching himself with one hand and holding up the other to defend himself. Medic made a lunge for the bigger man. Heavy caught him by the collar. He held Medic at arm's length.

“Doktor! It’s me! Heavy is no Spy. Just tell Heavy what is wrong.” The Russian’s English suffered from his sudden fear. Medic’s hands were on his own. He clawed fruitlessly, his rubber gloves stopping his nails from hurting Heavy.

“Medic please,” Heavy said.

The doctor stopped. His eyes never left Heavy’s. Heavy relaxed his hand, only a little. Enough to rest his fingers, enough to seem less of a threat to Medic. His only warning was the doctor’s curled lip. Medic launched himself forward. His fist met with a pressure point below Heavy’s jaw. The giant’s teeth slammed together, his hand spasmed and he fell onto his back. His ears were ringing at the force of the blow.

Heavy couldn’t believe it. One strike and he was down. Medic was on him. _Medic was on him?_

With one knee pinned at Heavy’s inner elbow, Medic had straddled himself on the large man’s hips. One hand was on Heavy’s face, the other digging into his bicep. Heavy went wide eyed. In any other circumstance, he'd welcome a little innocent roughhousing. But this... Heavy felt far too helpless, far too quickly. 

“Dok-” Before Heavy could finish, his head was wrenched to the side. He didn't see Medic lean forward but he felt the smaller man’s hair tickle his jaw.

Two small, sharp appendages sunk into Heavy’s throat. Pain shot down Heavy’s nerve system. His breath hitched in his throat. His toes curled in his boots. Every muscle clenched. Black spots filled his vision.

Medic withdrew and took the pain with him. There was a sticky warmth running down Heavy’s neck. Something wet and not as warm as it should have been followed it.

His body wasn't listening to him. Heavy felt his panic set in. He tried to ball his fists, tried to shake Medic off, tried to call for help. Nothing happened. His body didn't respond. His eyes began to close. _No, no don't do that_. It was like he was watching a film; like his body wasn’t his.

Heavy’s eyes slid shut, he was helpless to stop them.

***

Heavy awoke to a softly spoken, one-sided conversation.

“Don’t be silly Archimedes, I know what I'm doing. It's too late now.”

“ _Coo._ ”

“Well, sending him through respawn would force me to explain even more! I've said this. Und this approach gives us the best chance of him still liking us. Is that not what you want?”

“ _....Coo_.”

“Yes, I’m feeling much better physically. I’ll get back to you on the mental side.”

Heavy returned to his senses. Warnings of danger blared in his head. He willed himself to stay as still as possible, then opened his eyes.

He was still in Medic’s infirmary, seated in a chair with his head on Medic’s desk. The man himself was the other side of the desk with a dove on his wrist. The lights were on. Archimedes was pulling at Medic’s rubber gloves, the German watched the bird with an unreadable expression.

Heavy’s mind raced. What had happened? Why had he been moved? Was Medic still a threat? Could he be trusted? Did Medic move him? How did Medic manage to overpower him like that? Why was he suddenly feeling cold? Did he need to escape?

Running was a cowardly option, Heavy knew that. He could spring from his seat and make a break for the door, which was now closed. But Medic was fast, Heavy knew that too.

“Heavy?” Medic’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. The Russian blinked, Medic was peering down at him, worry etched onto his face. Those blue eyes seemed softer. Heavy couldn’t for the life of him, imagine this man to remain a threat. He sat up slowly, keeping an eye on Medic.

“Good, you’re okay. Well, maybe not okay but..” Medic flicked his wrist, Archimedes took to the rafters in a flurry of white feathers. Medic coughed into his hand and made a sound like he was trying to start a sentence.

“What happened?” Heavy growled. He regretted sounding angry the moment Medic stiffened in fear.

“I uhh... Well, you see. I understand that you are feeling... What’s the word.” Medic sat down in the seat across from Heavy. “Forgetful? No, that’s not right. Maybe a little cold. Are you in any pain?”

“Was.” Heavy said. “What did you do?”

Medic started several words before falling silent. Heavy waited patiently. There was no threat, that was good.

It wasn’t until Medic visibly deflated did he speak. “Heavy, I am a vampire and I bit you.”

The Russian took a good few seconds to make sure he hadn’t mistranslated what Medic had said. The grimace on Medic’s face told him that he had not.

“A vampire.”

Medic nodded.

“Is this prank? Is not funny doktor.”

“This is nothing to joke about.” Medic huffed, “I was starving Heavy, I had to and I’m..” Medic rung his hands, “I’m sorry.”

Heavy frowned. Medic was not a man who apologised often, and certainly never meant it. Only once had Heavy gotten a genuine apology out of Medic, when he’d eaten five of Heavy’s sandwiches. _Five_. This was either an extreme prank or very real.

“Prove it.”

“Here.” Medic said. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, pulling down the fabric to reveal a pair of parallel scars.

Heavy’s hand flinched to his own neck, he brushed two fingers along the smooth surface of skin, feeling two perfectly round punchers. He swallowed thickly. Even the comforting throbs of blood pulsating through his body were nowhere to be found. Not a prank then. Even the German would not put that much effort in. Medic averted his eyes.

To Medic’s surprise, the Russian spoke up. “Who bit you?”

The doctor peered up at Heavy over his glasses, “A patient. I don’t even remember his name, the transformation was not explained to me.” His eyes darted away again, “I hope to help you through this, if you’ll allow me, that it.”

Medic didn’t see Heavy nod. The bigger man drew back on old legends and stories of vampires he’d read or been told. “When?” He asked.

A smirk played on the corners of Medic’s lips, “The Great War.”

“First one?”

“Ja.”

Heavy nodded again as he digested the information. “Do not age.” He murmured, mainly to himself.

After a moment's silence, Medic laced his hands together and leant forward on his desk. “You are taking this remarkably well, mein...” The German hesitated on his words, then swallowed them entirely.

“Heavy still likes you, doktor. Would not be here if he didn’t.”

Medic breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.” Heavy understood that making enemies with the one person who understood him would not be wise. Would they really be together forever now? Maybe. It was a nice thought.

“You do not burst into flames?” Heavy continued his assault of questions.

“The sun is more of an irritant, if anything. I believe it is because of the body being undead, which causes the pupils to shrink at a slower rate.” The doctor removed and folded his glasses, “Heavy, are you sure you don’t need any time to.. Go over this yourself?”

“Will find out from you.” The Russian was about to ask another question, but the German interrupted him.

“You have a family.”

Heavy sniffed, he gave a slow nod. “True.” He said, “Now I can protect them, then their children, then their children, then..” Heavy gestured with his hand. Medic only wore a humourless smile.

“How noble.”

“Will still have to explain.”

“Of course.”

The pair sat in more silence, Medic waited patiently for Heavy to formulate more questions. “You say you did not fight in second war.” The Russian said.

Medic pursed his lips at the change of subject but responded anyway. “I did not. Do you not trust me?”

“No, not that. You would have still been…” Medic waited as Heavy searched for the correct word, “Applicable?”

The doctor snorted. “For the first, I was enlisted because the Kaiser needed cannon fodder. Everyone was enlisted, regardless of religion or sexuality. For the second; they were picky.”

Heavy hesitated at this new territory. Medic had never spoken about his past, of course now it made sense to the Russian. While Medic had spat the name of the dictators of his homeland the same way Heavy did, everyone had had their suspicions. Even Heavy at one point.

“So you are...” Heavy bobbed his head, indicating for Medic to finish the statement.

“My father was a Jewish man, my mother was an immigrant from Eastern Europe. I have questioned my sexuality for as long as I can remember and still do not know. You know, I even published a paper in 1926, proving homosexuality to be completely natural. It did not last long, obviously. In fact, the women I married was a lesbian hiding from the law.” Medic smiled and looked Heavy in the eyes, “In short, I am mostly made of things that the Nazis hate. A freedom fighter, if you will.”

Heavy nodded, he felt a weight lift, like the tension had flooded out of the room. Medic’s chair squeaked as he leant back in it. “Now, let me answer a question I thought you may ask:

Yes, we can still eat.”

The laugh started off as a rumble, deep in Heavy’s chest. Almost a snort. Then it exploded out of the man and echoed around the room until Heavy was doubled over in his seat. He looked over to Medic, who wore a smile that asked for the joke to be explained. “Bozhe moi! Heavy likes food too much. Is good, da?”

“J-ja, it is.” Medic composed himself at record speed. “Although, eating is more of a comfort for me. I have never felt hunger, nor have I ever felt full. However, I do believe that it aids in muscle maintenance, which is something you would be interested in, yes?”

“Yes,” Heavy replied. “Is there anything else Heavy should know?”

“Just that my door is always open to you.” Medic stood. “Oh, and we still appear in photographs and mirrors.”

“Heavy guessed this.”

Medic nodded, “If you’ll excuse me, I need to clean up. You saved me but I have request.”

Heavy stood as well. “What?”

“Bitte, tell Miss Pauling we _need_ those blood bags.”

  



End file.
